I love wanking.

I deserved a good wank after I survived Friday’s speech. I was looking forward to it. I thought I’d have a nice long, deliberate wank.

But I wasn’t horny.

So I thought after a day’s rest and a good night’s sleep, my penis might be in the mood for a good wank. I’m in a good mood. I’m rested. I’m perky. I’m energetic. I have time. Surely it’s the perfect time for a good wank!

But, no, I wasn’t horny yesterday, either.

And I don’t feel particularly horny today, either. If I wanted to, I’m sure I could stroke myself to erection, and wank away. But I much prefer when I have a gentle erotic buzz prior to dropping my pants. Then I think to myself, “I think it’s time for a good, satisfying wank.” By the time I drop my pants, I’m already erect. That’s when I know, “Damn, I’m horny.” It’s immediately pleasurable, and I can go at a slow and patient pace, wanking like poetry.

Yeah, what did I say yesterday to someone? Aggressive wanking is like the crashing of percussion instruments. Loud and explosive, maybe, but usually shorter and more incoherent. When wanking is good, it’s like a full orchestra. It starts off with a gentle tune, then there’s a long wanking interlude, finally building to a crescendo, complete with fireworks of prostatic fluid.

Unless I desperately need to sleep, I think I’ll try to wait for my penis to call to me. Wanking is best that way.

Actually, this was a massive excuse to use the word “wank”, because the word amuses me. (But you knew that.) I think it’s cute when girls say they need to wank. As far as a gender-neutral euphemism for masturbation, I think it’s effective.